


The Pebble

by phooykazooi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (but it's only bc they're baby gays & in their society that's illegal), Accidental Power Acquisition, Angst, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh's Actual A+ Parenting, Minor Mai/Zuko, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Ozai is his own warning, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Tags Are Fun, Tags May Change, The Author is Going Tag Crazy, Zuko Commits Some Casual Treason with Some Rando He Met Literally a Day Ago, Zuko Cries a Lot, Zuko Get His Own Personal Stress Ball (Except It's Not Very Squishy), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, but thats good bc tears are healthy dammit, gay Zuko, it's zuko ofc theres angst :/, lesbian mai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24401863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phooykazooi/pseuds/phooykazooi
Summary: There’s a pebble in Zuko’s shoe. Uncle is being led away in chains, and there’s a pebble in Zuko’s shoe.(Spoiler: it's not a pebble)
Relationships: Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 459





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [for reasons wretched and divine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442419) by [ZenzaNightwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaNightwing/pseuds/ZenzaNightwing). 
  * Inspired by [Unchained Melody](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738339) by [AvocadoLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove). 
  * Inspired by [Foxfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973705) by [Rahar_Moonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahar_Moonfire/pseuds/Rahar_Moonfire). 
  * Inspired by [Honor Returned: Book 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008537) by [Blue_Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sunshine/pseuds/Blue_Sunshine). 



> directly after Season 2, Ep 20, _Crossroads of Destiny_
> 
> so i was gonna wait until i had more of this typed up but
> 
> i couldn't 
> 
> enjoy this new work i posted even tho i have like three other fics that i havent touched in forever
> 
> (i also really wanted this posted bc i loved the tags too much to let them be deleted with the draft lol)

There’s a pebble in Zuko’s shoe. It chafes against the toes of his right foot, grating and annoying. Uncle is being led away in chains, and there’s a pebble in Zuko’s shoe. The crystals within Old Ba Sing Se glow and the pond is beginning to calm. The Dai Li have scattered, and his sister has left. Zuko sits at the edge of the water, takes off his boot, and shakes the debri into his open palm. 

The pebble is no bigger than his pinky’s fingernail, and he holds it between his thumb and forefinger. He stares at it, momentarily enraptured by its beauty. It must have been from one of the glowing crystals, chipped during the fight. It has a green shimmer to its reflective surface and it’s warm to Zuko’s touch, likely from his body heat. It looks fragile. 

Zuko’s jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. He pinches it until his fingers ache. Then, he clenches it in a tight fist, throws his arm back and—-

Hesitates. 

The pebble is cold. It has leached warmth from his palm, snatched the heat right out from under his skin. It cools and cools as he stands there, frozen and confused. 

(He’s imagining things. Maybe he’s going into shock.)

The chamber is empty now. Mai had left with Azula and Ty Lee, and Zuko sits at the edge of the pond and cries (he hates himself for it, but that’s what he does).

He composes himself quickly. He must, because his sister will be waiting for him outside, and she is not a patient person.

———

He doesn’t toss the pebble. He keeps it with him, as a sick kind of trophy.

———

A firebender’s ambient temperature is one hundred and five degrees. 

This stupid little pebble is warmer than Zuko’s natural body temperature. 

He doesn’t know what to make of that (he had felt its chill. The cold had crept up his arm and sunk into his chest, where his inner fire burned). 

———

He’ll be going home soon. 

He doesn’t really know what to make of that, either.

———

“Should I polish you?” he asks the pebble. 

He’s standing on the hull of a boat, under the light of the full moon. He’s wearing his royal robes, though they don’t feel like his. The engines hum beneath his boots and in the moonlight, the little pebble  _ shines _ . 

He polishes it using the fine silks of his robe and blows on it for good measure. “There,” he tells it, eyeing it critically. 

Soft colors swirl within its depths, green and purple and red, and they all coalesce into a work of indescribable beauty. 

“You weren’t this shiny before,” he says suspiciously. 

Footsteps alert him to another presence. Quickly, he pockets the pebble and turns to identify the intruder. It’s Mai, dark and gothic--a perfect foil a night such as this. She smiles at him as she approaches, and he forces himself to return the gesture. 

“Hey, stranger,” Mai says, sliding her arms around his middle. 

Zuko’s smile becomes more genuine. “Hello.” He holds her to him, and they exchange kisses under the stars. 

(As they talk, as Zuko tries to open up about his feelings and Mai essentially shuts him down, the pebble cools against his hip, slow and unstoppable.)

———

Zuko is the crown prince once again, and as he stands on the platform with his people cheering for his return, he remembers the ridicule he bore and the injustice he witnessed during his banishment. He recalls the empty night sky when the moon spirit was slayed, the unbalanced sway in his vision (though that may have been the concussion) and the absolute horror he felt when he looked up at the night sky and saw only stars. He thinks of the beggars on the streets of Ba Sing Se, the dilapidated fishing towns and half-starved refugees. The pebble is hidden in a tight fist, strangely comforting in the warmth that radiates from its surface. 

He feels—twisted. He should be happy to be home, but—he’s not. 

The crowd roars. 

(He wishes Uncle were here, but Zuko is the reason that he’s not.)

(He knows exactly how he feels about that.)

After the ceremony ends, his feet take him to the palace gardens. The turtle-ducks are still there. They remember him, just as he remembers them. They’ve grown, just as he has, and some of them have turtle-ducklings now. He sits at the edge of the pond and watches them swim around. He opens his hand and examines the pebble. 

It’s almost the size of his thumb, he notices with a frown. Less of a pebble and more of a cobblestone, now. He holds it up to Agni’s light and  _ swears _ it pulses between his fingers. 

“You grew,” he accuses. 

Colors twirl and dance within. Umber hues and brighter tones soak in the sun’s rays, basking in Agni’s favor and creating something altogether mystical. 

A turtle-duck quacks at him. Her liquid brown eyes stare hungrily at the pebble. 

“This isn’t food,” he tells her. 

Her tail wriggles in disagreement. 

“It’s a rock,” he says. “You can’t eat this.”

Her offspring swim circles around her, chirping and demanding. She squawks at him pointedly.

He rolls his eyes and pockets the pebble. He stands briskly and says, “I’ll get you some seeds,” then goes to the kitchens to do just that. He easily avoids the hustle and bustle of preparations for the celebratory feast, hugging the walls and keeping his head down. He’s in and out before the servants can notice him, and parks his butt right back where he was. He scatters seeds into the water, observing the mama turtle-duck stuffing her face as her ducklings hastily follow suit. 

And then, his sister comes to talk to him, and any calm he’d managed to squeeze out of himself flees as quickly as the turtle-ducks. 

(Azula scares them, and for good reason. She’s responsible for some of their disappearances, after all. She never liked the attention he paid to them.)

“The Avatar is dead,” he says when she asks. “There’s no way he could have survived,” and it feels like a lie. 

————

Azula had told their father that Zuko struck the final blow. 

(The pebble is cold. It had chilled the moment he entered the throne room and continuously cooled as Dad praised him. Stashed away in his pocket, he could feel it siphoning off the heat from his hip, his groin, his legs, and even from his core.)

(He remembered the cold of the North, how the snow seemed to sap the strength from his body. He remembered the void the moon left, felt the loss deep in the marrow of his bones. He remembered how Zhou looked him in the eye and forfeited his own life.)

(Zuko wonders if Zhou regretted what he did. He wonders if Zhou thought La’s punishment was justified.)

(Zuko wonders if Zhou’s uncremated death was retribution.)

(He thinks that it was.)

“You have redeemed yourself, my son,” says the Fire Lord. 

(“Did you know, Father?” he thinks to himself. “Did you know what Zhou was trying to do? Do you know what he  _ did? _ Did you know how that would affect the world? Do you know that would have destroyed the Fire Nation as well as the world?”)

Zuko holds the traitorous question tight behind his teeth and swallows it. “Thank you, Father,” is what he says. 

————

He confronts Azula about his part in the fall of the Avatar. 

To be honest, the less said about that, the better. 

(She lies and lies and lies, and she smiles so beautifically when she does it, with her perfect, plush lips and her dark, thick hair and the dragon’s gold hue of her eyes.)

————

The pebble will not warm. 

It remains cold in his hands, no matter how hot his flames. He bends and he bends and he bends some more, but not once does its chill abate. 

“Why are you doing this?” he yells in the privacy of his rooms. “Why won’t you  _ just get warm?” _

He puts all of his frustration and fear and self-loathing into his firebending, but that only seems to make things worse. His hands have gone numb from the cold and the chill has crept up the veins of his arms, settling like a winter spirit inside the most intimate parts of himself: his chi, his inner Fire, his soul. It sucks the warmth from him like a parasite and Zuko can stand it no more. 

He clutches it in one angry fist, rears his arm back and—

Stops.

The cold has fled him, leaving him shaky and panting. The little pebble is now at room temperature. Confused, he lowers his arm and opens his hand. It sits in his palm, lackluster and lifeless. There is no light from within, it is simply a pretty green pebble, inanimate and dull.

“No,” he breathes, overcome by a nameless grief. He lurches to his fireplace and quickly lights a fire (from scratch, using flint and stone and fanning the flame to life using only the air in the room). He rolls up his sleeves so they don’t catch fire, then nestles the pebble into the coals. He cups his cold, naked hands around both the pebble and the infant flame, monitoring its temperature with the tips of his fingers. Gradually, it warms in the natural heat of the fire and Zuko releases a sigh of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he says and then, for some reason, begins to cry. “Why did you get so cold?” he asks through a clogged throat. He wipes his cheeks on his shaking shoulders. “And why do I keep crying? I have everything I wanted. I’ve regained my honor.”

(“You have redeemed yourself,” Dad had said. “My son,” he had said.)

His face crumples. On his belly with his arms in the lit hearth and smoke in his nose, half-in the fireplace and cradling a pebble, he sobs, “Uncle, I’m sorry. I wish you were here. You—you would know what to do. You would know what’s wrong with me.”

The pebble rests in the crackling fire. Its surface soaks in the warm colors of the flame, and contained in its center is a spinning, effervescent ray of light. 

—————

After his breakdown, Zuko goes to visit his uncle in prison. 

He takes the pebble because the thought of leaving it unprotected and unsupervised physically hurts him. It makes his heart ache and sets his stomach rolling, so he holds it gently in his hand and makes the trek in the dead of night. He doesn’t know what he’ll say when he sees the old man, or even why he’s going to speak with him. 

(“The old traitorous fart,” Azula had sneered.)

Uncle Iroh gives him the cold shoulder and Zuko leaves after his temper gets the best of him. 

——————

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he says to the pebble, slowly warming in the fireplace. “You don’t seem to like it when I do that.” He snorts, looks away into the smoke curling up the chimney. “As if. You’re just a rock. What do you know?”

The fire coils around the pebble in its heart like a living entity. It breathes with Zuko, rises with his calming inhales and lowers as he exhales. The heat feels nice on his chilly skin, and under his fingertips the little pebble seems to _ bask _ under his attention. He absentmindedly draws a wave of liquid heat over the shining stone, adjusts the temperature so it burns just a little hotter. 

“Uncle hates me,” he says. “I don’t blame him. I’m a terrible person and a worse son.” He sniffs, and is slightly surprised to find tears in his eyes. He removes one hand from the firebox and wipes his healthy eye. He’s gotten soot all over his face, but he’s beyond caring. He wipes the tear on the surface of the pebble, and is gratified when it  _ glows _ . The corner of his lip quirks in a sad smile. “I don’t know what to do without him. I think…” His face falls. He cups the pebble in his hands and pulls it from the fire. It doesn’t cool one iota, and he brings it to his forehead and tries to control his trembling breaths. “I think I made a mistake.”

_______

There is unrest in the streets of Caldera City. 

Children are disappearing from their beds, he hears. Like they’re being spirited away, people whisper. The servants are loose with their tongues when they think they are alone, and they say that there have been five confirmed cases in this week alone. 

“It’s the Kemurikage,” a maid murmurs and is immediately shushed. 

“Don’t,” says her companion. “It’s bad luck to discuss these things. What if the Princess hears you?”

A servant boy snaps, “My little brother is  _ gone.  _ Who cares who hears us? We are loyal Fire Nation citizens; we shouldn’t be treated this way!”

Zuko winces at his volume. What if his sister hears, indeed. 

He shadows the boy until he leads them out of the Palace walls. By that time, the sun had dipped far below the horizon, and the stars shone around a waning gibbous moon. 

In a dank alley between squished houses, Zuko seizes his shoulder and bodily spins him. The servant is about Zuko’s age and of mixed heritage. His skin, a shade too dark for a pure Fire Nation citizen, blanches and his brown eyes bug. 

Zuko awkwardly releases him. “Hello.”

The boy drops to his knees and bows deeply. “Your Highness,” he says into the dirt.

“Stand up,” Zuko orders and the boy rushes to obey. “I’m here about your brother—can you tell me when he went missing?”

The boy blinks owlishly. “Months ago, sire.”

_ “Months?” _ Zuko parrots, appalled. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Zuko takes a deep, calming breath. “Just Zuko is fine. My father—he’s aware of this?”

“Of course,” he replies and there’s some fire in his eyes, now. “My mother personally sought an audience with him. As have the other parents of the missing children.”

“And he’s sent guards to the crime scene?” he interrogates. “Were there any witnesses? Where are the testimonials?”

“There aren’t any,” the boy says coldly. “He sent them away.”

Startled, Zuko blinks. “What?”

The color has returned to his cheeks and they are flushing from anger. “He sent them away. He said, ‘What care have I for snivelling mothers? The boy is promiscuous, that is all. Leave, now.’ My brother is five!”

Zuko’s heart flutters in his chest. “No. You’re lying. He wouldn’t say that.”

The boy’s face twists in a snarl. He boldly steps into Zuko’s personal space, fists clenched at his sides, and sneers, “He said it. He threatened to  _ kill _ the next person to come forward about it.” 

Zuko backs away and runs his hands down his face. His scar tingles with remembered pain. “I—I didn’t know.”

He scoffs. “How could you? You’ve been  _ gone.” _

Zuko...doesn’t know what to say (he’s getting tired of that). Words of comfort are foreign to him and any platitudes will fall flat. There’s not really any way to respond to that except, “Yeah. I have been.” He sniffs and straightens himself. He looks the boy in the eye. “But I’m here now. What is your brother’s name?”

The boy pulls away and crosses his arms. “What does that matter? He’s dead, or worse.”

_ Most likely, _ Zuko dully agrees. “Regardless. The name.”

His arms tighten around himself, more of self-hug than anything defensive. He bites his lip, though it doesn’t hide the tremble of his chin. “Ping, sire.”

“Ping. Okay. And yours?”

“Jang, my Lord.”

Zuko sighs. “Please, just Zuko is fine,” he reiterates. 

“Of course,” the boy says, bowing his head. 

Zuko tips his head back and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Instead, his hand finds the sleek surface of the stone in his pocket. It’s warm against his fingers.  _ Breathe, Zuko, _ he recalls his uncle teaching.  _ There is strength in the air, strength in your breath. You know this, nephew—fire comes from the breath, not the muscles! _

“It was four months ago,” Jang says. “It happened when we were sleeping. ” His eyes lose focus, his gaze grows distant. “We’re poor, so all of us share a room. Myself, my parents and...Ping. I work late nights at the Palace, and when I get home, he’s usually asleep. My schedule can be hectic, but he’s used to it.” He paused. His hands clutch the red sleeves in a white-knuckled grip. “He was.”

Zuko walks forward and holds Jang’s upper arms. “I’ll do what I can. Right now, I need more information. Who are the other victims?”

When Jang looks up, his eyes are wet. “I can take you to them,” he says. “Thank you, Zuko.”

Zuko swallows. “You’re welcome,” and the words feel good in his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes hours to identify and question every victim, but all of them open their doors to him and answer his questions. It is all the same: the family had gone to sleep, and come morning, the youngest child was gone. The oldest is fifteen, the youngest two days old. There are dozens. The parents’ raw grief is stark, their desperation clear. 

Afterwards, when the sky begins to pink with dawn, Zuko thanks Jang for his help and moves to depart. The servant asks, “What will you do now?” and Zuko says, “Something stupid.”

Jang raises an eyebrow and says, “I’ll go with you.”

(Zuko, cursing himself, is too lonely to refuse.) 

______________

Zuko had never been in the Dragonbone Catacombs. It is strictly prohibited for anyone except the Fire Lord and his Sages, but Zuko’s father has been shirking his responsibilities. The people are suffering; individuals who work in these very halls, who feed him and clothe him and serve him fear for the security of their family and the lives of their children. 

(Disappearances happened all the time in Ba Sing Se. People constantly vanished. Everyone knew who did it. Everyone knew the reason why.)

Dead dragons line the walls. The skulls are mounted in the stone like prized decorations, and Zuko cannot shake the feeling that they are staring. Their empty eye sockets follow him, the bones highlighted in the light of his flame. One skull, Zuko notices with a chill, is less than two hands in length. A hatchling, he thinks with a shudder. He wonders which of these skulls belonged to its caregiver. 

Jang takes in the sights, his brown eyes only a little wide. “Are these…?”

“Trophies,” Zuko confirms. “It was a trend my great-grandfather started.”

“A trend,” he parrots, his tone disbelieving. 

Zuko turns to him and says, “It’s called Dragon Hunting. The first firebenders, killed by the people they taught.” He scoffs and turns away. “People used to be executed for it. Now, it’s a mark of power.”

  
Jamg’s voice is soft. “Poaching,” he quietly corrects.

  
(Far away, tucked into a dusty shelf of the Western Air Temple’s library, is a scroll bearing a letter of execution. In the scroll were two sentences, written in Avatar Yangchen’s exquisite penmanship. “Criminals apprehended,” she had wrote. “Execution at dawn.”

In response, the Fire Lord dispatched a Fire Sage to cremate the bodies. 

  
“The penalty fits the crime,” the Fire Lord had penned. “May Agni bless them with kinder hearts in the next life.”)

—

The further they venture into the Dragonbone Catacombs, the bigger the kills. 

A full grown dragon, he discovers, could swallow a komodo-rhino whole. And yet, they grew more massive still. There didn’t seem to be a height limit; an older dragon’s jawbone could neatly fit the Avatar’s sky bison in its diameter. He can’t imagine the girth of a live dragon. Judging by the head alone, they must have been otherworldly.

Jang’s voice is breathy. “This is…”

“Yeah,” Zuko hollowly agrees. 

The head and neck of a gigantic dragon is installed in the dead end of a tunnel, its maw beared in an eternal roar. Its razor-edged fangs are twice as he is tall and thicker than his torso. Zuko raises his arm to allow the light of his fire to illuminate the skeleton’s throat, balancing himself on the edge of a ginormous tooth. There, where the vertebrae are rooted in the cobblestone wall, he sees the silhouette of an archway. 

“Prince Zuko,” Jang says, on the cusp of a scolding, “have these creatures not been disrespected enough?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder. “There’s a door,” he tries to explain. 

Jang blanches and quickly bows.

Zuko straightens and faces him head on. “Jang, do not bow. You were right to question me. These dragons shouldn’t be here, and we shouldn’t be intruding in their resting place.” Lower, “If you can call it that.”

Jang raises and nods seriously. “Yes, my Lord.”

Zuko runs his empty hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t call me that. You’re only supposed to address my father that way.”

Jang grimaces. “I’ll choke before I call him my lord,” he says.

Zuko shakes his head and turns away. He slides around the edge of a fang and into the gaping jaw of the dead dragon. He strides along the stone floor until the door reveals itself in his light. It resembles the large metal monstrosity in the only Fire Temple Zuko has ever been to, but it lacks the stylized flame. Composed of rusted metal, the door has no obvious lock. The boys examine it closely, and Jang kicks it for good measure, but the two are stumped. 

“Zuko,” says Jang, a hand to his chin and expression intent. “I see something in the metal. Look, do you see?” He points at the faded iron and Zuko squints. His bad eye impairs his vision, but he’s learned to adapt, and channels chi into the flame to brighten it. True to Jang’s word, the faded image of a lightning bolt curls around the center. 

Zuko’s mouth tightens. He thinks he knows how to open the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wonder how he'll open the door?? lmao


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the pebble, slightly bigger
> 
> not a continuation of previous chapt :c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v short, but i miss my boi

The little pebble continues to grow. Zuko fears that if this trend carries on, it will be too big to hide in his pockets. 

“Stop growing,” Zuko orders, as though it will listen. It’s fat in his palm, nearing four inches in diameter, and he’s already been forced to tailor his robes so as to accommodate it. He shakes his head. “You can’t keep this up; someone will see you.”

The pebble doesn’t seem to mind—its colors momentarily brighten, almost cheekily.

He scowls. “Don’t you look at me in that tone of voice.”

“Who are you talking to?” Mai asks. 

Zuko spins on his heel and puts his hand behind his back. “No one,” he hastily replies. 

Mai’s gilded eyes shine in the afternoon sun. Her gloomy expression becomes drawn with suspicion. “Oh, yeah?”

He resists the urge to swallow. “Yeah.”

She peers at him for a long, drawn out moment. Finally, she shrugs. “Whatever. C’mon, I’m taking you out to eat.”

His smile comes almost without his permission. “I thought it was my turn to pay on date night.”

“You’ll owe me one,” she says, golden eyes glittering with good humor. 

——-

They want him to use the palanquin.

There’s no reason for him not to. The royal family does not dirty their feet on the ground of the common people.

(In an old scroll, more than four hundred years old, a Fire Nation scholar penned to the Fire Lord, “The sickness has taken two hundred and forty-three souls in the Land of Earth alone. It is spreading quickly and I fear more palanquins will be necessary for the transportation of infected individuals by a week’s time.”)

“We’ll walk,” he decides, and puts their complaints to his deaf ear. 

“Zuko,” Mai lightly complains. “What if I didn’t want to walk?”

He says the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s something Azula would say,” then wishes he could swallow his tongue.

She snorts. “True.” Smiling meanly, she says, “She doesn’t like it when her feet get all sore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this last chapt is mostly a one-shot?? idk i wrote this part a few months ago


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jang gets to know his prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rando's POV

Jang’s prince moves like a wraith. 

His footfalls are utterly silent. His flame doesn’t gutter in his open palm, but stays burningly steady as they traverse the Dragonbone Catacombs. He peers past corners and hugs the walls, makes sure Jang does the same and waits for him if he falls behind. Jang knows that royalty has combat training, but to see  _ this  _ is surreal. His prince is like a ghost; his golden eyes seem to glow where they are visible beneath the deep hood of his cloak.

Jang has been serving the royal family for two years. He’s familiar with the princess’ snapfire moods, with the apathy of his supposed Fire Lord. He’s never personally served them, but he is aware that servants come and go like ash in the wind. 

Crown Prince Zuko is an enigma. 

Does the prince make a habit of sneaking into forbidden places? Does he always treat his inferiors so kindly, to listen to their concerns and take steps to ease their pain? Has he always taken point in a time of crisis? Prince Zuko is not like his sister, who shares the vitriol of their father. He will be a Fire Lord that Jang would be  _ proud _ to serve. 

It’s rumored that the Catacombs are twice as large as the Palace itself, that it once bore the entirety of Fire Nation history on its walls. He heard that the Catacombs were protected by Agni and only the Great Spirit’s direct descendants were allowed entry. 

The prince, however, seems perfectly at ease in these dead halls.

Well, he does until they find the dead end.

Zuko examines the hidden door, frowns at the top of the dragon’s mouth and frowns at its fangs, flickering in his fire. Using his unlit hand, he touches the metal as though confirming through touch that it is, indeed, closed. 

“Huh,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“My Lord?” Jang asks.

“It’s blocked.”

Jang’s mouth quirks. “Is it?” he asks sardonically. 

Zuko slants him a look.

More seriously, Jang inquires, “Is there no way to enter?”

“No, I’m sure there is,” Zuko says distractedly. “My great-grandfather wouldn’t have dared to destroy the crypts, but he sealed everything before his reign.”

Jang’s eyebrows scrunch. “Why would he do that?”

Zuko’s eyes are bright in the calm light of his fire. “To make it seem like he was the first.”

He scowls. Softly, Jang says, “Blasphemous.”

Zuko snorts. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

Offended, Jang glares. “Of course not, my Lord.”

Zuko mutters, “Just Zuko is fine.”

“Of course, Just Zuko.”

Except for an annoyed glance, Zuko does not correct him. Jang steps forward and studies the stylized door. As a nonbender, he has no light source except his prince’s palm-fire, but Zuko brightens the flame and moves to accommodate him. Jang peers at the lock and spies a mechanism. He hums and unsheathes a knife from his boot, then stiffens when he remembers his company. Zuko’s remaining eyebrow raises. Then, he removes his own ornate knife and asks, 

“Can you crack this?”

“Ah,” says Jang, wide-eyed.

Zuko flips the royal knife hilt-first and presents it to Jang, then gestures for him to continue. Cautiously, he does and uses the sharp points of their blades to break the lock. 

“Strange,” he mutters to himself as he works, “that it’s not unlocked with firebending.”

Zuko grimaces. “It is. Lightningbending, I think.”

Jang pauses and stares back at him.

His prince shrugs. “Only masters can do it. Azula’s been able to since she was, like, ten.” He turns away and stares at the knives. “It makes sense that Sozin would lock our history away like that.” And then, he gets this smirk on his face, and makes sudden and searing eye-contact with Jang. “How ironic, that the lock can be broken by a nonbender.”

Jang opens his mouth to retort, but the lock breaks beneath the points of Jang’s knives.

**Author's Note:**

> part of this was inspired by _Smoke and Shadow,_ a graphic novel by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. I believe it's canon, so check it out if yall want 
> 
> hang in there, you guys
> 
> and stay safe & healthy


End file.
